Mike chuckled, but there was no humour in it. Just weariness and the bitter taste of helplessness.
The boy had spirit. That much was clear. To renounce his name, to renounce blood itself, was no light thing. And yet, what else could he do? Mike had seen many children broken by their burdens, but never one remade so quickly by pain.
Still, this wasn't a test of will. This was survival. "Since you've chosen your name, I suppose there's no use delaying," Mike said, folding his arms. "The baptism must begin."
Simon, no longer William remained silent, unreadable.
Mike continued, "It's not like the ceremony your priest-blood prepared you for. We shepherd don't choose from sacred scrolls or await divine symbols. We go to the wild. You must find a beast, one unbound by man and tame it."
He paused, watching Simon for any sign of hesitation. There was none. The boy's face was a still lake.
"But be warned," Mike added, his tone hardening. "If the beast you meet is too compatible with your soul, it may try to kill you. Spirit recognizes spirit, and that kind of familiarity breeds violence before it ever allows trust."
Still no reaction. Only silence.
Mike sighed. There was nothing more he could say that would reach the boy now.
"Go," he said finally. "Find something small, harmless. This baptism is symbolic. You'll have years to bond with a true spiritual beast later. Don't be foolish."
Simon nodded once and turned to leave. He asked no questions, not about what to look for, not about how to tame the creature, not even where to begin. He simply walked out the door as though his path had already been etched into stone.
Mike watched him go, unease churning in his gut.
Most children trained for this rite from the age of four. They learned animal behavior, elemental resonance, spiritual compatibility. But Simon had studied only priesthood rituals, divine law, sacred tongues. He had no weapon. No instincts. No guide.
And yet, he showed no fear.
Because this was not the world of old. This was an age long after the collapse of all known faiths, an age so distant from our own that even the word religion had lost its meaning. The gods of old had warred, died, and been forgotten. What remained were echoes, harsh laws, silent heavens, and beasts imbued with the remnants of divine will.
Here, even fish could devour men. And the forest was no place for the unprepared.
It wasn't until nearly half an hour later that Mike truly realized what he'd done.
He's going to die.
Cold sweat beaded on his neck. His hands trembled. What was he supposed to say to Luca? That he had sent his son, his only son into the wilderness with nothing?
But it was too late to intervene. Once a baptism began, no one could interfere. Not without drawing the wrath of the heavens themselves.
Mike pressed his palms together in silent prayer.
"May the will of the Heavens be done."
But even as he whispered the words, he knew, this wasn't will. This was sacrifice.
Far from the stables, Simon reached the riverbank, where a thin mist clung to the air and the reeds swayed like sleeping serpents. An old boatman dozed on the grass nearby.
Simon climbed into the boat without a word, grasped the oars, and began to row, clumsily, awkwardly, but with determination.
The boatman stirred at the sound, just in time to be stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.
It was Mike.
The boatman turned, startled, but relaxed when he saw who it was.
"I hope the boy doesn't stir the waters too much," Mike said with a soft, strained smile. "The leviathans are nearing their waking hour, and we're not prepared to lull them back to sleep."
The boatman, Gabriel, though most just called him Gab, frowned, eyes sharpening.
"He has no training in animal rites?" he asked.
"None," Mike muttered. "I don't know what Luca was thinking. Bringing him here like this… he'll die."
"Unless…" Gab trailed off, his gaze lingering on the small figure rowing across the misty water.
Mike followed his stare. Both men were silent, but an unspoken realization passed between them.
"I need to speak with Luca," Mike said finally. "This can't be happening."
"Leave it be," Gab replied, rising slowly to his feet. His voice was calm, almost cold. "Luca has no choice. He's likely suffering more than we can imagine. These are not matters for us to meddle in. Even speaking of them too much may earn Heaven's attention. You carry too much heavens favour to risk that."
Mike stared at him. "Favour? Me?" He almost laughed. "I'm a shepherd, Gab."
Gab didn't respond, only stared across the river.
Mike had known Gab for years, yet still couldn't explain the respect the man commanded. He never demanded it, rarely spoke, and never wore his past openly. Still, people feared him, not for what he did, but for what they sensed.
Where Luca was beloved, Gab was feared. And Mike? Mike was tolerated.
Favor? Grace?
The idea was laughable.
Mike clenched his fists, suddenly burning with anger. Was Gab trying to curse him with his words? Was he trying to paint a target on his back?
He exhaled sharply, and to his own surprise, his breath came out like mist, hot, yet freezing the air around it. The moment passed, and his body loosened. Muscles he hadn't noticed were clenched relaxed. The weight in his chest lifted just slightly.
So what if he's right? he thought. So what if the heavens mark me?
He turned without another word.
Unseen, unheard, a seal upon his soul loosened.
Gab watched him go, faint amusement curling at the edges of his lips.
He didn't know why he had said those things, only that they felt true. And if they weren't, then Heaven would have punished him already.
Because the truth was undeniable: Mike reeked of heavens favour. Whether he believed it or not.
And soon, the world would come to understand why.